


Association

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, an imp and a wolf made a deal. Now, in a different world, the wolf no longer remembers, but the imp will never forget.</p>
<p>Technically, a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/364761">Iron and Blood</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Association

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks, while there was Granny/Rumpel in 'Iron and Blood', this is simply what came after. It's not a story of lost love or anything. It's two people who understood one another then. And now.

It was raining, which meant that the diner was deserted.

Ruby was on her afternoon off as well, which meant no smartmouthing either.

Anne Lucas took her time polishing the counter and arranging the menus. The diner was hard work, but when it was quiet, she liked to just enjoy it. A fresh box of napkins was distributed onto the tables. She rearranged the cutlery tray, even cleaned out the coffee machine.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called her anything but Granny, so it came as something of a surprise when a male voice murmured her name.

She whirled around, startled, a bread knife in her hand.

Mr Gold was standing on the other side of the counter. He glanced down at the knife, then back at her. “Well, that’s not quite the reception I was expecting.”

She glared at him. “You should know better than to sneak up on people,” she said, setting the knife down. She glanced towards the door, and the pouring rain outside. “Picked a day when there aren’t witnesses?”

He snorted in mild amusement. “Direct as ever, aren’t we?”

She snatched up her cloth and gave the counter a firm scrub. “I paid you already for this month,” she said. “You know I don’t have more.”

Gold’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Now, dear,” he said, “what makes you think I’m here about our little arrangement?”

“That’s the only time you’re ever here,” she pointed out tartly.

He inclined his head. “A valid point,” he acknowledged. He sat down on one of the stools opposite her, set his cane against the counter, then folded his hands on the countertop and studied her. “Perhaps, I felt that should change.”

She snorted. “This is my place, Gold,” she said, wedging her cloth into her belt. She braced both hands on the counter and met his gaze steadily. “I built it myself. You’ve got no stake in it.”

“Perhaps, then, you will provide a new customer with a civil service?” he said with that little quirk of his lips that could be threat or amusement, or both.

She studied him, wondering if there was some trick afoot, but he merely smiled slightly and inclined his head. “Sure,” she said, tossing a menu across the counter to him. “What do you want?”

He was watching her, unblinking, even as he unfolded the menu. “What can you offer me?” he asked. 

“It’s all right there in front of you,” Anne replied, removing the filter from the coffee machine to replace it. “We only do special requests for regulars, and you’re not on that list.”

“Yet,” he murmured, and she darted a glance at him. He was apparently intent on the menu, no longer paying attention to her.

She deliberately rattled around behind the counter, moving dishes, stacking glasses, anything that made enough noise so she didn’t have to listen to the silence. It was fine when the place was empty, but when he, of all people, was sitting there, it wasn’t the same kind of silence.

“How’s your girl?” he asked finally.

“Well,” she replied tersely. “Keeping busy. You don’t need to concern yourself there. She’s not in trouble. We don’t need help again.”

“I didn’t ask,” he murmured mildly. He closed the menu. “Coffee,” he said. “Black.”

She shot him an irritable look. “It took you ten minutes to decide that?”

His lips twitched again. “Oh, not at all,” he said. “I was wondering just how many plates you were planning to crack, just so you could ignore the fact that I was sitting here.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very unpleasant man, Mr Gold? Because if not, then they really ought to.”

“They do,” he said, tapping the balls of his thumbs together. “Quite frequently, if you must know.”

She snorted, turning to get him his coffee. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She caught a glimpse of him reflected in the metal of the coffee maker, and was surprised to see a flicker of something that looked like genuine amusement cross his face. It was quick as a shadow. She turned around and put the coffee down in front of him, looking him full in the face. “What do you really want, Gold?”

He wrapped his hand around the cup, drawing it closer. “Would you believe me if I said I came for your charming repartee?” 

“The hell with you,” she snorted again, pouring herself a coffee too. She took a seat on one of the vacant stools.

He raised his eyebrows. “No more dishes to crack?”

She gave him a look. He might well be a full grown man, but she’d had her fill of troublesome customers and she knew her looks could wither the confidence of the toughest loudmouth. “You want me to charge you double because you’re full of crap?” she inquired.

He looked sidelong at her, his mouth quirking in that not-quite smile. “The regular price will be fine,” he said.

She added sugar to her coffee and stirred in a drop of milk., then wrapped her hand around the cup, watching the white spiral through the black. 

His cup tapped lightly as he set it back down on the counter. “I can’t help notice that you and your granddaughter are quite alike,” he murmured, though he didn’t look at her or otherwise acknowledge her. “Very… forthright.”

“That so?” Anne shook her head with a rueful smile. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll take it as an insult.”

He took another sip of his coffee. “Children often do, so I’m told.”

For a while, they were both silent, contemplating their coffee.

“The inn isn’t doing as well as we’d like,” she said finally. “You get almost all of our takings. There’s nothing left to keep it in order, to do repairs.”

He set the cup down with a light tap. “I’m aware of that, dear,” he murmured, “but we have an agreement in place. My land and buildings, your work.” He tilted his head to look at her. “It hasn’t crumbled yet. Maybe if you get some more guests?”

“And there’s that crap you’re full of, again,” she said with a snort, adding another spoonful of sugar. “This is Storybrooke. Where in the hell am I meant to get guests? We’re not exactly a social hub.”

He laughed, and to her surprise, it sounded genuine. “That is a minor problem,” he agreed. “But you did have one new guest.”

“Yeah, we did,” Anne said with a sigh. “Until the Mayor’s office got uppity about ex-cons in public houses. As long as she wasn’t robbing me blind, I didn’t give a damn. She could have stayed, but no. Damned city ordinances.”

Gold turned on the stool and retrieved his cane. “Don’t you worry, dear,” he said. “I have a feeling that she’s just the first of many to come.”

She gave him another look. “I’m not gonna hold my breath.”

He placed a couple of bills down on the counter. “What I owe you,” he said, rising and limping back out into the rain.

 

______________________________

 

“We’re closed.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Anne turned around with an impatient sigh. “I’m doing a stock-take, Mr Gold,” she said, holding up a clipboard. “If you’re really so desperate for a coffee, you could try the café across the street.”

Gold removed his sunglasses, folding them and slipping them into a pocket. “That seems like bad business sense, sending your customers elsewhere, Mrs Lucas,” he murmured. “Surely, one coffee would not be a trial.”

She slapped the clipboard down on the counter and gave him a stern look. “How would you like it if I came into your shop when you were taking inventory?”

He smiled mildly. “I’m fairly sure I would remember to lock the door,” he said, indicating her own door which was propped ajar to let the some fresh air in. “And the point is moot, as we both know you wouldn’t come to my shop.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but went to put on the coffee all the same.

He had a knack for sneaking in when there was no one else around, and she never got around to kicking him out. Every time, he would order the same drink, they would both sit, and sometimes, they came close to having a civilised conversation.

When she returned to the counter, he was examining the clipboard.

“You do seem to go through a tremendous amount of cinnamon since Miss Swan arrived,” he observed, flicking through the pages as if he had every right to be right in her business.

She snatched the board out of his hand. “Next time I see you closing up,” she warned, wagging a pen at him, “I’ll be right in your way, having a good look around at all your merchandise, just to bother you.”

He offered one of his thin smiles. “And terrifying your granddaughter into thinking I’ll come after you like some demon in the night?”

She huffed, setting the board out of his reach on the far side of the counter. “You enjoy it, don’t you?” she said, stamping towards the door to lock it, to ensure no one else got in the way. “Scaring people?” She looked him up and down. “Thin as a toothpick and that accent and the limp. Hardly anything to look at. And yet everyone’s scared to death you’ll do something to ’em.”

His teeth showed briefly. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

She shook her head. “All an act,” she said. “I’m too old to be scared of a little thing like you.”

His brown eyes narrowed, studying her, and he chuckled. “It’s quite refreshing, if you must know. Very few people are brave around me.”

“Ha.” She returned to the coffee pot, filling it with thick, black coffee. “You just need to spend more time with grumpy old women. You’ll find a lot of us don’t have the time for your nonsense.” 

She set out two cups, as usual, and poured them both a generous measure of the steaming coffee. He turned his by the handle, then hooked it with his finger and drew it towards him.

“Thank you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Manners now? Will wonders never cease?”

One side of his mouth turned up. “No witnesses, dear,” he said. “And no one would believe you if you told them.”

“You got that right,” she agreed, rounding the counter, bringing her cup and the clipboard with her. She settled on a stool two away from him, and flipped through the pages of the stock for the order. 

She was humming as she worked through the sheets and looked up in surprise when she realised he was humming along with her. He caught her look, fell silent, and raised the cup to his lips to drain it.

“Didn’t strike me as the type to like music,” she said.

He looked at her. “What type is that, then?” he asked.

“The crotchety old bastard type,” she replied, adding some more sugar to her own cup. 

“Whereas the grumpy old lady type can be perfectly accepted as a music-lover?”

She laughed outright, slapping her hand on the counter. “Damn right,” she said. “I bet you wouldn’t even know what a stereo was if it hit you over the head.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly sure I would be able to spot it coming.”

They fell back into silence, and he refilled his own cup from the coffee jug.

Anne snorted, flipping through the remaining pages. “Are you just going to sit there and bother me all afternoon?”

He slanted a look at her. “Now that you mention it, I may just do that,” he said. “I appear to have a quiet day ahead otherwise.” He raised his cup to her in mocking salute. “An afternoon of abuse and vitriol might be what the doctor ordered.”

She looked at him in amusement. “Jackass.”

His lips twitched. “There,” he said. “A veritable balm to the soul.”

She didn’t know who was more surprised when she laughed.

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

 

“Granny!”

Anne looked up from the books she was working on, peering over her glasses at her granddaughter. “What is it, Ruby?”

Ruby glanced back over her shoulder. “Mr Gold’s in the diner,” she hissed. “What’s he doing in here? Didn’t you pay him?”

Anne set down her pen. “Of course I paid him,” she said, getting up. She’d forgotten what day it was, and normally, Ruby would have been out with some boy or other, instead of hanging around the diner herself. “Clear out, my girl. I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Ruby said stubbornly. 

Anne gave her granddaughter a look. “And you standing there, pointing your pout and midriff at him is going to make him behave any better than he would if you weren’t here?” She waved Ruby away. “He may be a bastard, but he wouldn’t hurt an old lady for no reason. Now scram. I’ll deal with it.”

Ruby huffed indignantly, but still looked more than a little relieved as she grabbed her coat and fled out through the back.

Gold was seated at his usual stool, his hands folded on the counter, when Anne emerged from the back room. “I took the liberty of locking the door,” he murmured, folding his fingers more intricately together.

“Not before you scared the crap out of my granddaughter,” Anne said dryly, folding her arms over her chest.

He looked at her and for a moment, his lips twitched. “I merely entered the diner and sat down. I can’t imagine what you mean by scaring.”

“You know exactly,” Anne retorted. She headed behind the counter. “The usual?”

“If it’s not too great a trial.”

She snorted, reaching for their usual coffee pot. “You could just say ‘yes’ like a normal human being.” She paused, pot in hand. “No, you’re right. You couldn’t say anything like a normal human being.”

He laughed through his nose, not quite a snort. “Charmed, as ever.”

Anne filled the pot and came around the counter to sit down. “I guess you don’t have any other widows or orphans to torment today?”

“Not any who would provide me with coffee,” he concurred. He looked across the counter at the cake display. “And possibly a muffin.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You want a muffin, you can get off your scrawny butt and get it yourself.”

“Wonderful service,” he said, shaking his head. He got to his feet and picked his way around the counter, selecting a chocolate muffin as she poured them both coffee. “Do you want one while I’m here?”

“I’m good,” she said, and considered him. “You know, if you ever need some spare cash, you’d make a good waiter. You’ve got the suit down already.”

Brown eyes gave her a reproving look, and he limped back around to the stool. “I don’t think I could ever be that desperate.”

She laughed quietly, stirring her coffee. “Never underestimate what people’ll do when they’re desperate.”

“Believe me,” he said, accepting his coffee, “I know.”

There was something about the way he said it which suggested she really shouldn’t ask more.

He dissected the muffin with scientific precision.

“What’s the occasion?” Anne asked finally. “You’re not usually a muffin person.”

He smiled slightly. “Let’s just say that I’m enjoying the changes in the Sheriff’s office,” he said. “Miss Swan will make some interesting changes, I expect, and I do like a breath of fresh air, once in a while.”

“Even though she called you on your crap?” Anne said tartly. “Firebombing Regina was never going to end well.”

He looked at her and smiled his slight smile. “Wasn’t it?”

She stared at him. 

Some questions, she decided, are better left unanswered.

 

__________________________________________________

 

 

Anne had been around a long time. 

Time enough to get a measure of people. Time enough to look someone in the eye and know whether they’re the kind of person who hits out with words or whether they use fists. You get to know those kind of people, when you watch and listen.

Gold was always a words-type. 

No matter what, his words were the things you had to worry about.

When the medics drifted in from their shift, talking about the man they had to pick up from Gold’s cabin, she couldn’t help listening in. Assault, violent, broken bones, internal bleeding. They all came up in the conversation, and when they murmured in hushed voices about the culprit, Anne was so surprised she didn’t notice she was spilling coffee all over the counter.

“Granny!”

Anne almost dropped the coffee pot at Ruby’s yell, and hastily mopped up what she had spilled.

“What’s wrong?” Ruby asked, setting down her tray.

Anne smiled unconvincingly. “Just got lost in thought,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”

She didn’t want to believe Gold could have done something like beat a guy up. He was too quietly angry, and he hurt people without ever lifting a finger. He didn’t lash out. She’d known him what felt like her whole life, known the kind of guy he was, and he wasn’t a physically violent man.

All the same, the next day was the stock-take, when he would turn up like a bad penny, but he wasn’t there. Still locked up, so they said. Not even all the influence he had was enough to make an attempted murder charge go away.

It looked like it was true, and she wondered how she had misread him, all the times he’d sat by her in the empty diner, and they’d just been there.

It wasn’t that she liked him. God knew he was an arrogant bastard, but it was a rare thing to have someone who wouldn’t just expect her to serve them and get lost. It was hard to find people just to talk to, even just about the day, about the usual crap that always happened, hell even about stock-taking.

For a while, one hard-working business-owner to another, they had got along.

The whispers spread, as they always did. Storybrooke wasn’t a big place, and when one person knew something, usually it was less than half a day before everyone else knew it too. He was locked up. He was charged. He was in front of the judge. He was bailed. He was back on the streets.

If people hadn’t avoided him before, they certainly did now.

Anne had to admit she wasn’t surprised when he showed up at the diner. 

As usual, it was deserted. He didn’t like to be seen acting like a normal man, and now, she was pretty damn sure she didn’t want him to be seen there at all. He stood on the far side of the counter, silent and waiting.

“Don’t know what you’re expecting here,” she said, polishing a cup and setting it back on the shelf.

“So you heard then.”

She picked up another cup, polishing it with unnecessary force. “I don’t think there’s a person in town who didn’t,” she said, finally turning to give him a cool look. He wasn’t sitting down. He knew he wasn’t welcome.

He looked down at his hand, resting on his cane, then back at her. “I see.”

Anne set the cup down alongside it’s brethren and folded her arms.

Gold tapped his fingertip on the end of the cane, and she wondered for a moment if he was going to try to excuse himself or explain away why he felt the need to abduct, torture and beat up a florist.

He considered her, then smiled a tight, thin-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and for a moment, there was an emotion there that seemed out of place. For less than a second, he almost looked sad, but then it was gone and she wasn’t sure it was ever there to begin with. 

“I see,” he said again, quietly. “I won’t impose on your time further.”

Anne remained stock-still until he walked out of the door, then sat down on the nearest stool. It felt like all the energy had been sapped out of her body. 

She didn’t know what they hell it was they had shared in those quiet afternoons in the diner, if only for a little while, but all she knew was that it was gone, beaten to pieces as mercilessly as Moe French.


End file.
